The Next Continent

by Issui Ogawa

  “Can’t be helped. Tanegashima is where the launch vehicle is. ELE suggested sending you, but now Tech Development is pushing for you to go too. Sando thought your report from the moon was top-notch.”

  “You’re just saying that so I’ll shut up,” said Sohya, morose.

  “Maybe. It’s not up to you anyway,” Iwaki shot back. “Unless you want to find another job, better relax and enjoy the ride.”

  “All right, okay.” Worn out, Sohya slumped into his seat. A chuckle came from the rear seat.

  “You did a good job of cozying up to the chairman’s granddaughter, but that won’t work with me,” said Reika. “I hope you’re ready.”

  “Cozy up to her? Give me a break,” Sohya said tiredly. He was starting to wonder whether his real job was babysitting people no one else wanted to deal with.

  CHAPTER 3

  LAUNCH VEHICLE DEVELOPMENT AND LAUNCH FACILITY

  [1]

  “HERE’S THE COFFEE, Boss. Whoa!”

  Shinji Tai opened the door to the president’s office and nearly lost his balance as the two visitors brushed past him. They marched off down the corridor without a word of apology.

  “Hey, what about the coffee?” Shinji stared after them.

  “Bring it here. I’ll drink it.”

  Ryuichi Yaenami motioned to Shinji from behind his desk. The early autumn heat was still fierce on Tanegashima Island, but Tenryu Galaxy Transport’s president was, as always, impeccably dressed. Today’s suit was tailored Italian. His long hair—had it ever been trimmed?—swept over his head and shoulders like a lion’s mane. Shinji set the tray of iced coffees on the table in front of the desk. Ryuichi grabbed one and gulped it down.

  “Should I bring them back?” said Shinji anxiously.

  “Don’t bother. The whole thing’s off. Norvalt’s going with somebody else.”

  “What did we screw up? Their organ synthesis satellite went up without a hitch.”

  “We didn’t screw anything up,” Ryuichi said. “The launch team did the job perfectly—like always. They worked like slaves. Nobody slept for a week. You know what they accomplished.”

  Shinji nodded. He was the director of TGT’s Advanced Research Department. “’Course, I’m not on the launch team. I wasn’t even in the blockhouse yesterday. I was kicking back with a can of juice, watching everything from Takesaki.”

  “The control center? You jackass! Stay the hell away from the press. What if they start asking questions?”

  “No worries. The only ones there were this NHK reporter and some deadwood from MEXT. No way would they recognize me.”

  Ryuichi’s face fell. “No commercial broadcasters? Oh well. With only two launches a year they were bound to forget us sooner or later.” His shoulders sagged.

  “So what were the Norvalt guys unhappy about?” asked Shinji.

  “‘Not enough depth.’ ‘People who work without sleep for days on end are going to screw up sooner or later.’ They want people who look more ‘experienced.’ More ‘proficient.’ They’ll probably take their next launch to China or India,” said Ryuichi.

  Ryuichi slapped the table angrily. “What the hell do you expect? We don’t have enough experience! We’re lucky to get two launches a year. How do we work out the kinks? I’m busting my ass rotating our people into different jobs. Holding seminars with the old industry veterans. Anything to help the younger guys get seasoned. Anything!”

  “Our competitors launch pretty much every month. I’m not surprised Norvalt thinks we’re greenhorns.” Shinji sounded dejected. “That’s why we kill ourselves doing a good job, and it pushes our fees up. Higher fees mean less work. And that means less experience.”

  “It’s a vicious cycle. God damn it! The least the government could do is give us their satellites.”

  “Now that we’re privatized, they treat us like outsiders,” said Shinji. “They send all their astronauts to NASA. Foreign rockets launch Japanese satellites. Get this—yesterday the guys from MEXT said it was amazing that Japan had developed the capability to launch such great rockets. ‘Developed’? We’ve been building launch vehicles for thirty years. What’s amazing is how little attention anyone is paying.”

  “What do you expect?” muttered Ryuichi. “They don’t have a stake in the industry. We might as well be invisible. These bureaucrats should be chosen via the web, just like the politicians.”

  “On the other hand, we only managed to grab this facility because it wasn’t making money.”

  “The place was going to waste. All they were launching were birds.”

  Ryuichi looked out the window. Shinji followed his gaze. TGT’s headquarters looked out across a primeval forest of intense green. Mangroves thrived in pristine wetlands. The lush foliage rippled lazily in the offshore breeze. In the distance, TGT’s launch complex rose from its cape jutting into the Pacific. The Vehicle Assembly Building, a gigantic white tombstone, shimmered in the heat like a mirage. Other than the flora and fauna, everything in the ten kilometers between the three-story headquarters building and the twin launchpads was under the control of Tenryu Galaxy Transport.

  Ryuichi lit a domestic cigarette with a Longines lighter and absently blew a cloud of smoke. “Maybe it’s time to get into the safari-land business.”

  “Or better yet, sell this place, take the money, and run.”

  The two men sighed.

  Tenryu Galaxy Transport had been founded by Ryuichi Yaenami to offer commercial satellite launch services. TGT was now Japan’s only rocket manufacturer and launch facility. Until the turn of the century, rocket manufacturing and launches were controlled by twin government entities, the National Space Development Agency and the Institute of Space and Aeronautical Science. The fact that TGT was now in control was the outcome of administrative restructuring carried out by Japan’s government.

  Deregulation, privatization, and cost reduction were the bywords of restructuring, and no exception was made for space development. In 2003, NASDA and ISAS had been merged with the National Aerospace Laboratory of Japan to form the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency—JAXA. As if that wasn’t enough restructuring, a large percentage of JAXA’s staff was soon spun off to the private sector. Rocket development would now depend on profit and loss accounting, not the public purse. Inexpensive foreign launch vehicles would put Japan’s satellites into orbit.

  Until the waves of change hit, Japan’s launch vehicles had been built jointly by NASDA, ISAS, and two giant corporations, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and IHI. But space development was under MEXT, the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. Following the government’s mandate, the ministry slashed funding for NASDA and ISAS. Launching Japanese satellites and astronauts was left completely in American hands. With little work coming in, Mitsubishi and IHI backed away from space development, and the Japanese launch industry languished.

  That was when Ryuichi saw his opportunity. The son of a wealthy businessman, he had been fascinated by rockets as a child. As he grew up, he watched in frustration as Japan’s space program struggled to maintain its focus while China forged ahead and sent men into space. Like many of the sons of wealthy fathers, however, Ryuichi seemed unable to find his footing as an adult. He audited university aerospace lectures, worked as a parallel importer of foreign autos, managed to obtain a light aircraft license, knocked around Southeast Asia selling used industrial equipment, and generally drifted through life. Then five years ago, he had stumbled across Shinji Tai, and his path in life was set.

  Shinji was a graduate student incubating revolutionary ideas in aerospace materials science. But in Japan’s hierarchical academic environment, he couldn’t get the funding or support to verify his concepts. One evening he was impatiently expounding his theories to several slower-witted friends in a local pub. Ryuichi was at the next table. He bought Shinji a beer, and in ten minutes the two men were off in a corner, deep in a discussion of Shinji’s ideas.

  Ryuichi was electrified. If Shinji
were right, the course of history would be altered. But the young man had nothing he needed to pursue his ideas: no experience, no money, no staff, no time. At this rate, by the time he made real progress, some foreign competitor would be far ahead. Ryuichi vowed to help.

  He moved quickly. After convincing Shinji to join him, he approached people Shinji recommended as capable and persuaded them to work with him. He liquidated several business ventures to generate working capital. When the grapevine brought news that Mitsubishi Heavy Industries was looking to sell their Space Development Group, he called in every favor in his Rolodex and actually succeeded in bagging it.

  This was the beginning of Tenryu Galaxy Transport. Ryuichi’s success in negotiating the deal with a colossus of Japanese industry—without powerful backers—and in navigating MEXT’s bureaucracy to obtain approval for the deal sent ripples of astonishment through Japan’s business circles.

  After that, it was all downhill. Ryuichi intended to use TGT to implement the sort of drastic restructuring that old-line companies like Mitsubishi found impossible. Then he would put the business on a paying basis, gain experience, and wait for an opportunity to commercialize Shinji’s theories. But it was far harder than he thought.

  Simply put, there was no demand. Ryuichi planned to staunch the red ink of Mitsubishi’s cast-off division by reorganizing it. But once it was under his control, he discovered that a bloated organization was the least of his problems. There was no demand. Under the wing of government, almost all of Mitsubishi’s space-related revenues had arrived courtesy of the taxpayer. Ryuichi was forced to admit that getting out of the business was probably a smart move for the government.

  Without official patronage, he had no choice but to go to the private sector for launch business. But this proved equally tough. The global market for satellite launches was around twenty trillion yen, which seemed a large enough number. But the telecommunications market—the source for most launches—was twenty times larger. Absolute demand for launches was limited. And unlike the telecommunications industry, where new ventures were continually sprouting up and disappearing, success in the launch business was critically dependent on having an established track record and the trust of your customers. There was little opportunity for a newcomer like TGT to grab a piece of the business.

  Ironically, one of TGT’s few selling points was the fact that it was ignored by its own government. The major players—including the national space agencies of America, Russia, and the EU—were strongly influenced by national defense and economic policies. This sometimes made them reluctant to service certain customers. By promoting TGT as a neutral party with no political or military entanglements, Ryuichi managed to keep just enough business coming through the door to keep from folding.

  A typical “orphan” project was this September’s launch of an H-3C rocket carrying an experimental satellite for a Swiss multinational pharmaceuticals conglomerate. Norvalt Pharmaceuticals was making major investments in the development of artificial organs for regenerative medicine, and the satellite was designed for microgravity cultivation of tissue for organ synthesis. Organs are three-dimensional organizations of cells, but in a lab culture dish on Earth the cells would only grow horizontally. Cultivating a three-axis structure called for tissue engineering; the cells had to be grown in an environment that allowed them to adhere to a framework of biodegradable polymer. The tissue could then be cultivated in a liquid matrix. But failure to create tissue with the required blood vessel density, along with structural distortions caused by convection in the liquid, was holding up future research.

  In a microgravity environment, three-dimensional structures could be cultivated free of distortion. But Norvalt’s attempts to do this had run into another roadblock. The cell line they were using was immortal, with enhanced glycolysis capability and viability in a low-oxygen environment—not unlike cancer cells. Most space agencies were extremely nervous about putting payload like that into orbit over their territory. NASA would not approve a launch without reams of documentation guaranteeing public safety in the event of an accident.

  Norvalt’s experiment, however, was meant to generate profit. Their competitors would be climbing over each other to get copies of the disclosure documents. This knocked the leading space agencies out of contention. At the same time, the few nations with a fledgling launch capability could not deliver the kind of lowvibration lifting necessary to ensure the functioning of Norvalt’s delicate satellite.

  TGT stepped up to fill the gap, and the launch went flawlessly. Like its H-series predecessors, the H-3C, first launched in 2019, was the cutting edge of the art and science of rocketry. Norvalt’s twenty-two-ton satellite was the fifteenth successful launch for the H-3C, which carried it into orbit with an astonishing vibration ceiling of 100 dB. The final four-hundred-kilometer orbit had a variance of only forty meters. China’s National Space Administration probably could have beaten TGT’s seven-billion-yen launch fee by 20 percent. But thanks to meticulous vehicle and facilities maintenance, the Japanese company boasted a higher successful launch rate. Without a doubt, TGT delivered satisfactory service.

  Yet Norvalt had just turned down a deal for additional launches. If the concerns they’d stated were real, they would probably take their next launch to a relatively experienced space agency—probably India or China. Chinese and Indian launch vehicles were crude compared to the H-3C, but with some investment in vibration damping, they could probably be made serviceable. Had Norvalt decided that the extra cost would offset the advantages of using TGT? If so, Ryuichi and Shinji had good reason to be depressed.

  “Well, we’re in a pickle now. There’s nothing on the schedule.” Shinji was stuffing himself with the sweet potato pastries, an island delicacy, that he’d brought in with the coffee. He knew TGT was in dire straits, but he was optimistic by nature and had boundless confidence in this man who had plucked him from academic obscurity. “What should we do?” he added. “Borrow money for another demo launch?”

  Launching for the sake of launching was part of rocket development. Technology required honing, and TGT’s hundreds of technicians and launch specialists needed to keep their skills sharp. Better to isolate and deal with problems on test launches than with a customer’s payload. It allowed TGT engineers to tweak their designs and maintain their edge and motivation.

  Of course, test launches didn’t pay. Ryuichi was going to almost pathetic lengths to squeeze costs in an effort to ensure continued funding for employee motivation, which mostly meant drinking sessions. He’d recently switched his company car from an expensive foreign model to a used domestic clunker.

  Ryuichi’s usual comeback to Shinji’s laid-back observations was humorous dismissal, but now he plunged a hand into his lion’s mane and scratched thoughtfully. “There’s one more angle. We’ve got some more visitors today.”

  “Oh? From where?”

  “Japan. Gotoba Engineering, and Eden something. Some kind of park operator. Heard of them?”

  “Sure, I’ve heard of Eden. Tokai Eden is right next to our Tobishima plant in Nagoya. What are they coming here for?” said Shinji. He shook his head. “An amusement park operator and an engineering company. What would they need a rocket for? Maybe it’s some kind of ride.”

  “They sounded serious on the phone about putting something into orbit,” said Ryuichi. “But they obviously know zip about rockets. I need you in the meeting. You’re good at explaining this sort of thing to the uninitiated.”

  “Is that why you called me down from Tobishima? I thought I was just here to serve coffee.”

  “Why the hell would I need a scruffy mutt like you to serve coffee? My assistant’s off today.” Ryuichi stared at him and chuckled. Shinji’s rumpled white lab coat was as much a part of his image as the president’s tailored suits. It only made him look busier when it got dirty, and it saved him from explaining where he fit in at the company. He wore it everywhere. “Great hair, ’cept for the dandruff” was the saying around
the office. Clean but rarely combed, it looked like a sparrow’s nest. Behind gold-rimmed wire frames, his eyes seemed perpetually narrowed in amusement. Tall and stooped, he shuffled rather than walked. One could not exactly say he was handsome.

  Ryuichi glanced at his gold wearcom—he used to have a Rolex, but the device on his wrist was now a lowly Seiko—and said, “They should be here about now. Is there a taxi outside?”

  “What taxi? The taxi company went bust, remember? Didn’t you send someone to meet them?”

  “Damn! I totally forgot. I was too busy thinking about those Norvalt guys.” Ryuichi snapped his fingers in frustration. Shinji was dialing the airport on his wearcom when the room was filled with the whirling boom of engines. The two men stuck their heads outside and looked up into a vast cerulean sky, far bluer than over the main islands.

  “Whoa!” shouted Shinji. “Pretty swank, coming in a helicopter. See? There’s the Eden logo.”

  “That’s no helicopter. It’s a Boeing tilt-rotor. They must’ve flown nonstop from Nagoya. That’s why they didn’t call from the airport. Shinji, you better clear the parking lot.”

  “Is it okay for them to land? This isn’t a heliport. Won’t air traffic control come down on us?”

  “Rockets are a lot more dangerous. The control tower won’t mind. Helicopters don’t have a habit of exploding,” Ryuichi deadpanned.

  Shinji left the room. Soon TGT staff began streaming out of the building. As the tilt-rotor hovered motionless, employees ran through the propwash to their cars and began moving them to the periphery. A few moments later the small aircraft, each wing tipped with a single proprotor engine, floated down onto the parking lot.

  First off the plane was a red-haired woman in a business suit, followed by a man who appeared younger than Shinji. The woman shielded her head with a briefcase but was buffeted by the wind and fell to the pavement before she was clear of the propwash. The man with her moved to help her up, but instead of accepting his outstretched hand she yelled at him. Apparently these two were not exactly on the same team.